


In Ten Years' Time

by artificialjazz



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Established relationship Shalaska, F/F, Lesbian AU, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-25
Updated: 2017-08-25
Packaged: 2018-12-19 15:29:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11900646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artificialjazz/pseuds/artificialjazz
Summary: In which Sharon and Alaska attend their ten-year high school reunion together.





	In Ten Years' Time

**Author's Note:**

> Showing the judges versatility by writing a lesbian AU and by trying out present tense! This fic goes out to my loves, Alaska del Needles & Dottie, and to @alaskasthighs for the inspiration. Talk to me about this fic/Shalaska/life in general on my Tumblr, @artificial-jazz <3

“We _have_ to go,” Alaska whines. She rests her chin on Sharon’s shoulder, pouting at her through thick lashes.

“We don’t _have_ to do anything,” Sharon says, punctuating her response with a light kiss to Alaska’s forehead. “We could stay here, and watch _Sons of Anarchy_ , and fuck.” Sharon thinks she’d prefer that, if she were being honest.

The kitchen's flooded with pale sunlight, the kind that comes only at the end of long, hot day. Sharon's doing the dishes, and it's so painfully domestic, but she loves it: loves that Alaska saves vegetarian recipes for her on Pinterest, loves that Alaska hovers while Sharon cooks, rambling on about her coworkers, or the dreams she had the night before, or now, apparently, their upcoming high school reunion.

“But it’s a milestone, Shar. A _milestone._ ”

“Since when is returning to that hellhole of a place after ten blissful years away cause for celebration?’”

“Hey, rude. It wasn’t all bad – it’s where you met me.” She slinks her slender arms around Sharon’s waist and allows herself a moment to reminisce: back to the English homework that Alaska would unfailingly complete for the both of them, the cigarettes Sharon used to sneak in between periods despite Alaska’s complaints, and the study halls spent making out in the heavy heat of the gym locker room.

“I just liked watching you run around in your cheerleading uniform,” Sharon smirks.

Sharon’s only half-kidding. No part of her feels the need to subject herself to the watchful gaze of stuck-up socialites, college dropouts, and obnoxious abusers of the inevitable open bar.

“But we have a fireplace,” Alaska states, and she sounds almost wistful.

Sharon wipes her palms on her leggings, turning to lean against the sink. “Okay...” she prods, hoping for further elaboration.

“I want people to know,” Alaska says. “I want to go to the reunion and show everyone that I didn’t, like, peak in high school, you know? We’re homeowners with a fucking _fireplace_ and a cat and I get to see you naked, like, every day.” 

Sharon pulls her in and smiles into Alaska’s mess of blonde hair, feeling herself weakening. She wants to stay strong, she really does, but she’s no match for her girlfriend, as usual.

“Don’t you at least wanna see how fucked everyone else is doing?” Alaska tries.

“I’m a little curious, yeah.”

“Yeah?” She bounces on the balls of her feet, her smile reaching her eyes, bright blue and crinkling at the corners. That’s when Sharon knows it’s game over.

“You owe me, Lasky. I mean it.”

“You love me, you really _love_ me,” Alaska singsongs.

“I wanna see what kind of work Willam’s had done, and that’s it.”

“Whatever you say, babe.” Alaska slides her hands under Sharon’s loose V-neck, soft from over-wear, her manicured fingers tracing each rib individually until she can feel goosebumps rising on Sharon’s milky skin. “I can think of a couple ways I could make it worth your while…”

Sharon’s already pushing her toward the couch, Alaska’s bottom lip captured between her teeth. “Try me.”

And that’s how Alaska, against all odds, convinces Sharon Needles to attend their ten-year high school reunion.

-

Sharon can admit, now, that it’s not the _worst_ idea Alaska’s ever had.  

She watches her girlfriend check herself out in the floor-length mirror propped in their bedroom, and she looks stunning in a skin-tight cocktail dress. She’s wearing her hair half-up, half-down; she won’t stop running her fingers through the ends. Sharon thinks that Alaska’s nervous, that she wants to make sure she looks absolutely perfect (which she does) in order to make all of their classmates sufficiently jealous (which she will.)

Sharon loves that she’s the one who gets to show her off.

“What are you gonna wear?” Alaska spins around and her eyes are wide, frantic. “Oh my God, you can’t wear ripped jeans. You’re not gonna wear ripped jeans, are you?”

Sharon places her hands on Alaska’s shoulders. “First of all, chill.” She waits for Alaska to take a deep breath in, and out. “And why does it matter what I wear? Everyone’s gonna be looking at you, anyway.”

Alaska chooses to ignore the flattery, though she appreciates the attempt. “I want everyone to see how hot my girlfriend is,” Alaska coos. When Sharon makes a face, she adds, “You’re hot, Shar. Stop that.”

Sharon’s changed a lot since high school, and while Sharon might not be able to see it, Alaska can. The Sharon she met over ten years ago sported ratty band tees and Chuck Taylors over fishnets and didn’t give a shit about what anyone thought about it. Her platinum hair is shorter now, styled into a sleek bob, framing her angular face in ways that her former tangled hair never could. She’s filled out, too, curves existing where there used to only be hard lines.

Alaska loved her then, now, and all through the in-between.

“Let me help you pick something out,” Alaska decides, moving to sift through their closet.

There’s the red blazer and skirt set that makes Sharon look like a risqué, power-hungry CEO – one of Alaska’s personal favorites – or the lacy green gown that hugs her hips in all the right ways. She runs her hands over different fabrics, stopping when she brushes across sequins. “This is so it. This is the winner!”

Alaska holds out her find: a black sequined dress that she’ll pair with thigh-high boots. She knows it’ll definitely turn heads, while still screaming _Sharon_.

“The things I do for you…” Sharon grumbles, even as she pulls the garment over her head. It’s a little itchy, but Alaska’s right: the small sequins catch the light attractively, her legs elongated by the short cut of the dress.

She stands next to Alaska and assesses their reflections in the mirror. Alaska’s radiating; she’s a couple inches taller than Sharon without heels, and tonight her hairdo only serves to give her extra height. They look good, and Sharon feels that familiar pang in her chest, associated with somehow landing a girl eons out of her league.

She’s still not entirely sure how it happened. Sharon and Alaska didn’t exactly run in the same circles back in high school – Sharon didn’t really run in _anyone’s_ circle. She wasn’t bitter about it: she knew she came off as kind of thorny, maybe a little abrasive, and, at any rate, she didn’t care for most of those people.

But Alaska was different: kind and gentle and pure, in the way she’d walk Sharon to class just to talk to her for a few minutes, or when she’d invite her over after school to make flashcards for their exams, or how she’d told her, as if it were the simplest thing in the world, that she wanted to take Sharon to homecoming senior year. Alaska was _good_ , the only one able to soften her edges.

The only one willing to try.

So Sharon would try, too – try to enjoy herself at the reunion tonight, for no other reason than to make Alaska happy. _Because that’s what you do in relationships_ , Sharon reminds herself, ignoring the tightness in her chest.

“I don’t wanna be early, but I don’t wanna be too late, y’know?” Alaska’s saying now, admiring her ass in the mirror.

Sharon sighs, reluctantly accepting her fate.

“Let’s just get this over with, shall we?” Sharon forces a smile and grabs the car keys from their nightstand, to head back to the one place Sharon could’ve sworn she’d never step foot in again.

-

Alaska’s all but sitting in Sharon’s lap at one of the circular tables that the school’s set up in the gymnasium.

“Being back here with you…” Alaska says, her voice husky in Sharon’s ear, “I don’t know, it turns me on, I guess.” She _giggles_ , and Sharon’s reeling, heat pooling between her legs.

Sharon has to say, having her girlfriend draped over her like a blanket is proving to be a nice distraction from the otherwise cringeworthy events taking place around them: the small talk, the forced mingling, the not-so-subtle judging. Sharon’s been tense ever since stepping foot into the school again, constantly looking over her shoulder – for what, she didn’t even know.

She’d almost forgotten how much she used to despise it here.

High school wasn’t filled with happy memories for Sharon like it was for Alaska. She wasn’t popular by any stretch of the imagination, and she definitely wasn’t head cheerleader or teacher’s pet. Hell, she wasn’t even just gay – she was gay _and_ weird. Kids could be cruel, and they never let her forget it.

Alaska picks up on Sharon’s anxious disposition almost instantly, lacing her fingers through Sharon’s and pulling the back of her palm up to her lips to kiss. “Thanks for being my arm candy tonight, babe.”

“Is that all I’m good for?” Sharon jokes, choosing instead to focus on the peachy shade of gloss Alaska’s wearing, how she wants to lick it off later.

“Clearly. Now let me parade you around.” Alaska untangles herself from Sharon and hops up, giving Sharon no choice but to follow.

When she’s by her girlfriend’s side, Sharon can accept it, almost: that she’s beautiful, that she’s worth parading around. Alaska pinches the flesh on Sharon’s hip and squeals whenever anyone gives either of them a once-over. Sharon’s not used to the spotlight, but thinks she could learn to tolerate it with Alaska right next to her, admiring Sharon with goddamn stars in her eyes.

“Did you see that?” Alaska hisses. “Jaremi Carey just _winked at you_.”

Sharon doesn’t respond.

She spots Willam and Courtney first, and it stops her dead in her tracks.

Her stomach clenches instinctively and she braces herself, realizing too late that she didn’t properly mentally prepare for this moment, and that it’s only a matter of time before Alaska locates her old best friends, too. Sharon had her reservations about them from the get-go, and for good reason.

Seeing the two girls forces Sharon to reluctantly recall her first Real Fight with Alaska: they were seventeen, and Willam and Courtney had invited Alaska to a college party.

Alaska had casually announced her Friday night plans as Sharon drove her home from school that day, and Sharon was freaked. Being caught underage would absolutely destroy Alaska, who’d never even gotten so much as a detention before, and she was so cute – _too_ cute – and what if she wasn’t watching her drink closely enough, or if she got separated from Willam and Courtney?

And it’s not like Sharon even _wanted_ to sip lukewarm beers in the dingy basement of a fraternity house, but she would’ve liked to have been _asked_ , at least.

She’d never forget how Alaska seethed at Sharon voicing her concerns, accusing Sharon of not trusting her, of being jealous, and why couldn’t she loosen up like Will and Court? Sharon sat there in the driver’s seat, stunned, as Alaska flung open the passenger door and stomped up her driveway. No goodbye, no “I’m sorry” – nothing.

Sharon couldn’t sleep until she knew Alaska was home safely that night.

She’s snapped out of her thoughts abruptly when Alaska eventually identifies Willam and Courtney from across the room and shrieks, heels clacking against the linoleum as she run-waddles toward them with enthusiasm, tugging Sharon along with her.

Sharon briefly wonders if Willam and Courtney arrived together tonight; they used to be inseparable in high school, prompting Sharon to frequently question their relationship status – not that she’d ever say so to Alaska.

Courtney was nice enough, but had always been wrapped around Willam’s finger. Willam was harder to read: more intimidating than the smaller blonde, she was a matchless combination of indifference and vanity. You either wanted her to like you, or you wanted her to leave you the hell alone.

Sharon subscribed to the latter philosophy.

The obligatory round of hugs and compliments passes at an excruciatingly slow rate as Sharon searches, unsuccessfully, for an out.

“ _Ugh_ , you two are such couple goals,” Courtney slurs, her mouth seeking out the straw to her fruity drink. “Aren’t they, Will?”

“Who woulda thought? I didn’t see this,” Willam motions between Alaska and Sharon with a flailing hand, “lasting past prom.”

Sharon bites her tongue, the words stinging like salt in an old wound. She wraps an arm more tightly around her girlfriend.

Alaska’s rendered unbothered. “It’s _so good_ to see you girls again, God. We used to have some fun.” She looks over at Sharon, who’s staring at the floor.

Courtney grasps onto Alaska’s wrist. “Remember skinny dipping at Violet’s?”

“Oh my God, is she here? Tell me she’s here.”

“Her slam piece back then was something else,” Willam muses. “What was his name? Brian? Bob? Who the fuck knows – I blew him in her poolhouse.”

They’re screeching, reminiscing about chugging Breezers after football games and setting each other up with their hot friends, and Sharon feels herself withdrawing, retreating back to a place she thought she’d left behind years ago.

She never fit in with Alaska’s crowd, she’s always known that. Alaska had this whole other life before Sharon, though, and Sharon knows she shouldn’t care – but she does, because it’s a life she can’t even begin to understand, to relate to.

She wasn’t invited to college parties. She wasn’t invited to anything.

Sharon’s struggling to get enough oxygen into her lungs, and she thinks she might be making a strange face at Courtney, thinks she can hear Willam laughing at Sharon’s expense.

“Yeah, same,” Sharon interjects loudly, earning her a puzzled look from her girlfriend.

Before anyone can ask what the hell is wrong with her, Sharon puts her head down and makes a beeline for the open bar. She doesn’t want to see anyone, doesn’t want anyone to see her – all she wants is a vodka soda. Better yet, she wants to go home, wants to slam the front door to her apartment and scrub off the stench of this awful night in the shower. She knew it wasn’t a good idea, coming back here.

Sharon isn’t bulletproof, despite her fervent efforts to convince herself that she is. Most of the time, she can fool herself, but Willam and Courtney and everything they _stand for_ is just a painful reminder that Sharon’s skin isn’t as thick as she’d like it to be, that she’s the butt end of some sad inside joke that everyone else seems to be in on.

Picking up her pace, she knows it’s nothing that a strong drink can’t fix. As she’s making her way through the throngs of her former classmates, Sharon’s shoulder connects with an unsuspecting victim, nearly knocking her over.

“Fuck, sorry,” Sharon mumbles, her cheeks flushing red. She readjusts her dress and attempts to regain her composure.

It takes her seconds before it registers: the inked-up, tan-legged woman in front of her is none other than Raja Amrull. Her hair is long and dark, interrupted by a singular grey streak, and, luckily, she seems to be unharmed after Sharon’s clumsy tirade.  

“Looks like you need this more than I do,” Raja says, handing Sharon a shot of what looks like whiskey, and, after she tosses it back eagerly, can be confirmed as such.

“Shit,” Sharon exhales, the liquor warming her chest. “I didn’t think I’d be glad to see anyone tonight.”

She means it; she hadn’t even considered that Raja might attend this sort of event, but she’s glad for it, reaching out to give Raja’s hand a grateful squeeze. She’s taller than Sharon remembers, and there’s something calming about her presence.

Aside from Alaska, Raja was the closest thing Sharon had to a friend in school. Raja also tended to keep to herself, but sometimes they’d hotbox Raja’s car while Sharon waited for Alaska to finish up cheer practice, get high and think about life post-graduation. She’d been the one to give Sharon her first tattoo, a small stick-and-poke, which, in hindsight, was probably a terrible idea, but Raja listened to her rant about her crush on Alaska and always nodded at the appropriate times, and Sharon appreciated her for it.

“Bitch, I’m surprised they even let you in.” Raja laughs, and her teeth are so white, and Sharon finds herself laughing, too, each peal easing some of the tension out of her shoulders.

“You and me both.”

They fall back into a normal rhythm effortlessly. Raja secures her hair into a low bun at the nape of her neck with an elastic, tells Sharon about the studio she’s opened up in California, how she’s been drinking wine in the afternoons and experimenting with oil pastels. Sharon thinks it sounds nice, promises to let Raja know if she ever travels out west.

“You’re still with Alaska, yeah?” Raja asks finally. “I mean, of course you are, she was the _love of your life_. How is she?”

“She’s… Alaska,” Sharon says, choosing her words carefully. “Dragged me here against my will. The usual.”

“Sounds about right.”

Raja smiles from her eyes, like she _knows_ – and she probably does, can probably sense Sharon’s regret over letting her old ghosts resurface, and in front of Alaska and her friends, no less. It makes Sharon want to open up to Raja, tell her everything: how Alaska’s only gotten more beautiful with age, if that’s even possible, how they’ll go home later and strip down to their underwear, probably apply one of the fancy face masks Alaska’s ordered online.

“We made zoodles the other week,” Sharon blurts, laughs when she says it aloud. “Zucchini noodles,” she clarifies, and Raja just nods, like it’s the most natural thing Sharon could’ve said.

It’s more than the eccentric dinner entrées, though. It’s the way Alaska knows Sharon’s favorite brand of cheap ass red wine from the store, and how she’ll try to surprise her with it. It’s when she comes home from work with Dollar Store fuzzy socks with pumpkins on them, and she’ll say that they made her think of Sharon so she just _had_ to buy a pair. It’s how she’ll walk around in those same pumpkin socks and a giant sweatshirt, quote entire episodes of the _Golden Girls_ aloud in the middle of the day.

“We have a townhouse near the city now, too,” Sharon continues, “with a fireplace.”

Her throat catches on the last three words, and her heart swells with pride.

“You guys are lucky,” Raja muses.

Sharon _feels_ lucky; her body is buzzing with it, and she knows she has to find Alaska and kiss her, let her know with lips pressed firmly against hers that she’s sorry for overreacting, that this place messes with her head, but that it’s okay – it’s okay because she’s so totally enamored with Alaska that she’d do it all ten times over again if it meant she could keep falling in love, here, with her.

“I should go find her,” Sharon says apologetically.

“No worries,” Raja says, and then, earnestly, “we turned out alright, Needles.”

-

Sharon scans the room for her girlfriend and pinpoints her, gives her a sheepish wave from over near the bar. Sharon watches as Alaska finishes up her conversation, embraces her friends one final time before sauntering over to Sharon. The sea of unfamiliar faces parts for Alaska, unsurprisingly.

“Hey, there you are,” Alaska says. “I’ve been looking all over for you. Was hoping I could take you home tonight.” She waggles her eyebrows.

Despite everything, Sharon laughs at her ridiculous, adorable girlfriend. “Thought you were gonna get lucky, huh?”

“Well… am I?” Alaska steps closer to her, and the whole mood shifts; she smells like perfume and spearmint gum and Sharon’s very nearly transported back to the first time Alaska had leaned in for a kiss – Sharon remembers thinking it had to be some elaborate prank – but Alaska’s looking at her with those smoldering blue eyes now, and Sharon’s hands instinctively move to her waist to pull her in.

Sharon knows she’ll never get tired of kissing Alaska, of the way she sighs into her mouth happily, pressing her chest hard against Sharon. She knows this, just like she knows Alaska’s the only thing that matters, the only thing that ever really mattered, and Sharon nudges her tongue against Alaska’s teeth.

“I kinda freaked out back there,” Sharon admits.

Alaska scoffs, as if to say _that’s an understatement_ , but places a small peck on Sharon’s nose anyway, which she welcomes happily. “I can’t believe you left me alone to third-wheel,” Alaska pouts.

Sharon tilts her head questioningly.

“Babe,” Alaska says, “I’ve been Will and Court’s third wheel since the ninth grade. You had to have known.”

Sharon wants to gloat, say that she called it, but there’d be time for that later. Instead, she’s hyperaware of Alaska’s hands travelling south, dancing across her lower back.  Every gesture with Alaska is a tease, designed to make Sharon crazy.

“Can I tell you something?” Alaska murmurs, her cheek brushing lightly against Sharon’s.

Sharon hums her approval, lets her eyes flutter shut.

“I’m not wearing anything underneath this dress,” Alaska whispers, and she drags out each syllable. She gives a slow twirl to illustrate, clearly impressed with herself.

Sharon lets the words linger in the air, an electric promise, and it takes all of her strength not to undress her right here – she thinks she might if there weren’t so many people around. She opts for another kiss, this one sloppier than the first, Sharon securing Alaska’s chin in place with a thumb and forefinger.

Sharon is the first to come up for a breath, uttering a low, “follow me,” before ushering Alaska toward the outskirts of the room, a hand resting on the small of her back. Sharon loves it: the way Alaska obeys without hesitation, always being one to follow directions. Sharon’s hand is tingling; she can nearly feel the heat of Alaska’s skin beneath the thinness of her dress, the modest amount of contact hardly enough for either of them.

As they walk, the crowd begins to disperse, and the two are able to slip away undetected into an adjoining room, humid and dimly lit and all too familiar.

“You’re so dumb,” Alaska giggles, as Sharon leads her through rows of rusted lockers with chipping paint. “The girls’ locker room? Really?”  

Sharon stops abruptly and pushes Alaska against the cool metal of the lockers, the rattling reverberating loudly throughout the otherwise unoccupied room, and a soft moan escapes Alaska’s lips. Suddenly, she’s not laughing anymore.

There’s a moment that passes, when Sharon and Alaska are only inches apart, and they’re breathing each other in, unmoving – when a few loose strands of hair fall down into Alaska’s face, and she doesn’t reach to fix it, doesn’t dare to be the one to break – that Sharon feels the gravity of the past ten years, of the girl pinned beneath her, who’s been here through it all.

And Sharon’s still just as fucking attracted to her as she was the day they first met.

Their mouths crash together simultaneously, and they’re kissing like kids again, fast and hurried, as if they didn’t have all the time in the world to kiss and touch and explore. Sharon tugs the straps of Alaska’s dress off her shoulders, peppers kisses onto the exposed skin, loves the way her girlfriend’s breath hitches when Sharon scrapes her teeth across the flesh.

Alaska instinctively grinds down on the leg that Sharon has pressed between her own. Her dress is riding up and Sharon eagerly takes note, running her hands up Alaska’s smooth thighs, allowing a thumb to rest near her entrance. She’s already dripping, and it drives Sharon absolutely crazy; she can feel the wetness seeping onto her leg.

Alaska guides one of Sharon’s hands to where her breasts have spilled out from her dress, now bunched around the hard planes of her stomach, and Sharon’s positive that her body is a work of art as their mouths fight to stay connected.

Sharon can hardly help it: she drops to her knees, her nails digging into Alaska’s ass as she licks the moisture from her girlfriend’s inner thighs. She’s reveling in the sounds Alaska makes, the way she says Sharon’s name, urging her on.

She’d have to remind herself to thank Alaska later, in bed, for choosing to forgo the panties tonight.

Sharon looks up, sees Alaska groping her own breasts with heavy-lidded eyes. Her mouth is open, just barely, and Sharon’s sure that Alaska has no idea how gorgeous she is, right at this exact moment – and it’s all the motivation Sharon needs.

She swipes her tongue, once, over Alaska’s folds and pauses, the neatly groomed hair tickling Sharon’s nose. With a free hand, Alaska reaches down and laces her fingers through Sharon’s platinum locks, drawing her closer to Alaska’s heat.

Sharon whimpers against her, the vibrations evoking a strangled whine from Alaska. “Fuck me, Shar, _please_.”

“This was our spot, Lasky,” Sharon says. She sucks a mark onto the patch of skin above Alaska’s sensitive bud, and she takes her time, enjoys it. “Remember?”   

Alaska stretches an arm above her head, lets her fingers wander until they find the gouges in the metal, jagged strokes notched years ago. She traces the imprint of the _SN + AT_ that Sharon carved onto locker number 66 – which Sharon had obviously haphazardly etched an extra 6 into, despite Alaska’s protests about vandalization on school property.

 _Anyone can just walk in, and that’s half the fun of it_ , Sharon had argued. She used to wish that someone _would_ wander into the locker room, catch Sharon with two fingers pumping in and out of Alaska, whose skirt would be around her ankles until the late bell rang out over the loudspeakers.

“Of course – of course I remember, _fuck_ ,” Alaska manages, her voice strangled from both the sweet sentiment and her growing impatience.

“I wanna make you come right here.”

Sharon says it like it’s a challenge, and she makes quick work of unravelling the gorgeous blonde quaking in front of her, lapping at her opening. Alaska’s hot and swollen around Sharon’s tongue, and Sharon settles in, using the hand still on her ass as leverage to pull Alaska toward her face. Sharon’s chin is soaked and she doesn’t care, moaning into Alaska, guttural and muffled.

She realizes that, at some point, she must’ve started to rub herself through her thong. Sharon can feel her own dampness now as she circles Alaska’s clit with her tongue, inserting a finger into her and crooking it upwards.  She’s so slick and Sharon can hear it; she can picture how Alaska’s touching herself, pinching and squeezing her small breasts until she gasps.

Alaska’s grinding her hips onto Sharon, desperate and fast, and Sharon lets her, lets Alaska smother her until Sharon can barely breathe. She seals her lips around Alaska’s clit, rolling it between them before sucking hard, and Alaska’s legs are quivering. Sharon can tell that she’s close; she slides a second finger into Alaska for good measure, hitting the spot she likes again and again and again.

Alaska can’t keep quiet for the life of her, and it’s almost too much for Sharon to handle. Even after ten years, she still feels a jolt of satisfaction whenever she’s able to evoke those pretty little moans from her girlfriend.  Sharon pulls her panties to the side as she massages sloppy patterns into her pussy.

“Sharon, I… I’m –”

Alaska clenches around Sharon and comes, loudly, tugging on Sharon’s hair as she shudders, spurring Sharon toward her own climax.

Surges of pleasure roll up Sharon’s spine and out through her fingers and toes, wave after orgasmic wave crashing over her as she coaxes Alaska through her own aftershocks with a delicate tongue, wringing out every drop that she can, before Alaska sinks to the floor next to Sharon. Alaska captures Sharon’s mouth in a lazy kiss that tastes of her.

Alaska’s half-naked and spent, wrapped around her girlfriend, whispering gently into Sharon’s neck, “Let’s go home.”

-

They exit through the gymnasium, hand in hand. Alaska’s hair’s a mess and Sharon’s sure she’s sporting a nice post-sex glow, but she doesn’t care – she feels good, better than she’s felt in a while. She even tosses a smile out to Willam and Courtney on the way out.

Sharon holds the heavy door open for Alaska, watches her walk through, out into the parking lot and toward their little car. She’s laughing about something and Sharon repeats the sound over and over in her mind.

They decide to drive backroads tonight, and everything’s different, but it’s all still the same, really. Alaska’s hand is resting on Sharon’s inner thigh and she’s humming; Sharon thinks she’ll probably let Alaska eat her out when they’re home. They’ll open the window and let the cool breeze in and they won’t even bother making the bed.

 


End file.
